


what it was that made you strong (what it was that made you weak)

by withthepilot



Series: Homesick [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Open Marriage, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris doesn't know what he wants from Karl, exactly. But he knows when he needs it. Luckily, they have an arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what it was that made you strong (what it was that made you weak)

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me the other day and wouldn't let my brain go. There is an open marriage at play here but take heed if implied infidelity bothers you. 
> 
> Title from "Obsessions" by Marina and the Diamonds.

It's not the first impromptu international flight Chris has taken and it probably won't be the last. He's most grateful to lead the life that he does when he gets it in his head to do something impulsive like this. Plus, it's not as though he's never been to Vancouver. It's a beautiful city with some seriously impressive views.

Even so, the only view Chris wants to see is Karl standing in front of him, a little sleep-rumpled and confused, wearing a T-shirt that's nerdy as fuck, but gorgeous as always. And when Chris (finally) gets what he wants, he lets out a harsh gust of breath he didn't realize he was holding back. He stands on the doorstep of Karl's rented house, shifting his balance from left foot to right, and then back again. 

"Sorry to bother you," Chris says by way of greeting. He clutches one strap of his backpack and squints at Karl, who has the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Never a bother," he says. "It's been a while."

Chris swallows and nods. It's his fault, he knows; he didn't think Karl wanted to be bothered, not with his new show and its heavy-duty shooting schedule. Plus, Chris has been busy in London—well, "busy" is a weird term for it, but it'll do in a pinch. 

"Wanna go get breakfast?" he says, in lieu of an apology. "My treat."

Karl looks up at the sky and scratches his head. "Gotta be on set by eleven. You're welcome to come with."

"Sure. Plenty of time for some greasy eggs and potatoes."

Karl just shakes his head and smirks. Then he steps back to let Chris come inside.

*

Spending the day with Karl is refreshingly normal. They have a comfortable breakfast at a nearby cafe and then Chris tags along to the set of Karl's show. He always enjoys hanging out on sets where he's not part of the action. He can sit back and watch other talented people do the dirty work. A couple of people seem a little star struck that Captain Kirk is hanging around but after he succeeds in knocking over a stack of Coke cans, a peanut butter cookie hanging out of his mouth to boot, that all stops.

"Captain Clumsy, ladies and gents," Karl says.

When he's not teasing him, Karl slings an arm around Chris' shoulders and ruffles his hair, complimenting him up and down to anyone who'll listen. Chris, therefore, spends the entire day with what feels like a permanent blush. He has to fight the urge to lean into Karl's solid build every time—the familiar warmth that he flew god knows how many miles to feel again.

The thing is, they have an agreement, he and Karl. They live their own lives—Karl with his wife and kids and Chris with his girlfriends and in-between sheepish "Yes, I'm single" admissions on TV shows—and then, if and when one of them needs the other, they find a way to come together. Karl's wife knows about it and she's fine with it because she's the greatest woman on Earth, something Chris and Karl can both agree on. Chris doesn't mention anything about it to his girlfriends because it rarely comes up when he's dating someone. And, when it does come up, it's usually Chris initiating it, since Karl has his shit together. There was one time when Karl came to him, though, and the memory of Karl holding Chris' hips against his kitchen wall and sucking his brains out though his dick, without any preamble, still serves as Chris' favorite masturbation fodder, to this very day.

The nice thing about the agreement is that each of them knows not to press, not to ask too many questions. Sometimes they talk and sometimes they don't. Sometimes they fuck like rabbits and sometimes they don't. Sometimes just being near each other is enough. 

In this case, Chris hasn't decided yet.

Shooting goes long so Chris grabs a sandwich from craft services and then goes to Karl's trailer to read. He ends up nodding off after eight pages, lulled to sleep by the comfort of the sofa and the pillows—and the smell, god, it stinks of Karl in there. Chris wakes up to a gentle hand carding through his hair and his book being lifted from his relaxed grip.

"Wha…?"

"Finally wrapped," Karl says. He's kneeling on the sofa beside him, and he flips through the book. "You must be exhausted. Wanna go back to mine or should I leave you to the…riveting history of the toothpick. God, Pine, you are so _bizarre_."

"It is kind of riveting." Chris yawns and sits up, smiling. "Let's go back. A real bed sounds nice."

"It does, at that. Come on, then."

When they get to Karl's, they drink Stellas and order a pizza, because craft service food never really does the trick. They're quiet as they eat, watching television and leaning against each other. Karl has a tough time picking a channel and sticking with it, which would bother Chris if it were anyone but Karl. As it is, it just amuses him and he smiles as he chews on his third slice.

"So," Karl says after a while, just as Chris is on the verge of nodding off again. "Sleep soon? I've got a guest room down the hall from mine. Or we could…"

Chris furrows his brow. In his drowsy state, he's not sure what Karl is getting at, but he's pretty sure that the mention of the guest room means Karl wants Chris to use it. That makes sense. As Karl said himself, it's been a while. 

"Guest room sounds good," Chris says. He extricates himself from the sofa and Karl's warm embrace and he doesn't look back to see what Karl's reaction is, or if he even has one.

*

Chris sleeps fitfully for an hour until he wakes up and realizes it's a lost cause. He tries not to make too much noise as he fetches his glasses and pads over to Karl's room. It's pretty far away and Chris thinks that a house like this must seem huge to someone who's used to being surrounded by family. Karl's door is ajar, which makes Chris smile, and he peers inside, catching sight of Karl on his side in bed, a slice of moonlight slanting over the curve of his bicep. Chris stands there awkwardly, debating his next move, before a deep rumble interrupts his thoughts.

"You going to stand there 'til sunrise or get in the bed?"

Chris scoffs but he shuffles inside and gets under the covers with Karl. That scent is everywhere again and it relaxes his muscles in a way alcohol or drugs never could. Karl gives him his own pillow and then runs his fingers through Chris' hair once he gets comfortable.

"Sorry if I woke you," Chris says.

"Nah. Was basically awake."

"Okay." He licks his lips. "I didn't really want to sleep in the guest room."

"No?" Karl smiles at him. "Then why did you pick it?"

"I thought you wanted me to. Since you mentioned it and all."

"Just giving you a choice, you ridiculous monkey."

"Oh." Chris shrugs and tries not to feel stupid. It doesn't work. "Thanks for letting me tag along today, by the way. Michael is awesome. And Minka is hot."

Karl snorts. "You're telling me."

"It was fun."

"Good." They're quiet for a bit and then Karl looks at him. "Listen. I know I'm not supposed to—well, it'd be breaking the rules if I asked, but…"

Chris exhales. "No, it's okay. It's fine, actually. I mean…I was angry before. But hanging out with you has kinda made me forget that I was supposed to be angry. So that's a good thing."

"That is good, yeah. Unless you've got reason to be angry, in which case, I don't want to stifle you."

Karl hums as he lightly traces the moles on Chris' bare chest. It's soothes Chris but also makes him feel shivery in a way that feels too good to be anything but dangerous. He swears he can feel something warm crest inside him. When Karl leans down to press a kiss to the hollow of Chris' throat, he almost wants to cry.

"I—I was seeing someone," he whispers. 

"Okay," Karl says. He presses his nose to Chris' shoulder. "I know. I mean, I knew."

Chris nods faintly. "I liked her. A lot. And everything was great, and then all of a sudden these photos showed up, and—" He pauses, his throat growing thick. He tries to swallow through it. "I mean, it happens all the time. It can't _not_ happen. But she was freaked out."

Karl eyes him. "So she left," he surmises.

"I can't blame her," Chris replies. He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. "Whatever. I barely knew her."

"But you liked her. I get it. It's shit. It's okay to be angry, Chris."

"I'm not angry at _her_."

"I know that." 

"I know you know."

Karl nuzzles Chris' freckled skin and Chris tries to focus on the slow rub against his skin. Instead his mind races as he remembers why he came here, why he was supposed to be angry, and why Karl is the only person who can help—who can fix it, maybe.

"Wish I could protect you from this shit," Karl murmurs. "It's a silly thought, I know, but one that I've had more than a few times over the course of knowing you."

The fragile thing inside Chris goes taut and snaps. 

"I don't need you to protect me."

"I know you don't, but—"

"Stop being so fucking patient." He sits up and shoves the covers away. "You're always so fucking rational. So _fatherly_. I'm angry, okay? I need to be angry sometimes."

Karl sits up as well, his left eyebrow lifting. "So be angry."

"I don't need _permission_."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Because I need—" _You. This. Isn't it obvious?_ "—a distraction."

Karl purses his plump lips and exhales, his nostrils flaring. The sight makes Chris' cock twitch and he just wants to laugh at himself and never stop because if there's anything that Karl's fucking good at, it's being _distracting_.

"Well, I'm right here, Chris. You came all this way and now you're here and I'm here. So what do you want? To be held? To be fucked? To eat pizza and sleep in my trailer?"

Chris feels himself deflate slightly. "Yes," he says.

"Which one?"

"All of them?"

Karl chuckles at that and lunges forward, the harsh words already forgotten. "C'mere, monkey," he says, and before Chris knows it, he's got a hand wrapped around his ankle, dragging him down the bed, onto his back. He doesn't have time to protest before Karl rolls on top of him and settles there, pinning Chris to the bed with his body weight. Chris shudders. Karl's weight bearing down on him is a _relief_ , something he didn't know he was missing, and he slides his palms over Karl's bare back and lets out a shaky sigh. His hands are kind of cold, he knows, and Karl responds by growling faintly and pressing down, then up, between Chris' thighs. He removes Chris' glasses gently and sets them aside.

" _Karl_ ," Chris says, all he can say. "Karl…"

"Shhhh. Just let me," Karl whispers. 

He leans down to kiss Chris, deep and filthy, and he runs his hands along the insides of Chris' arms until he's got his wrists clasped in his strong fingers. Chris grows hard at a speed that would be embarrassing, but he can't help himself with Karl. He can feel that Karl is hard, too. Chris vaguely remembers Karl telling him once, back in the day, that he was always hard around Chris. He feels dizzy when Karl's tongue laps at the backs of his teeth, when he feels it scrape against his own, when Karl plunges it between Chris' lips at the same pace that he rocks his hips. Chris groans. He feels smothered in the best way. Subdued and seduced, and yet he knows he's in control—that if he said stop, Karl would move off him in an instant. 

Chris hooks his leg around Karl's but Karl shakes him off, pinning Chris' legs as well and breaking the kiss to mouth at his nipple. Chris keens and arches up.

"Karl, fuck," he whispers.

"Tell me," Karl replies. "Tell me what you want."

" _You_ ," Chris croaks. "Specifically, to fuck me before I die."

"Think I can manage that. Long as you don't die in the next ten minutes."

"No promises."

*

Karl takes his sweet time in prepping Chris, like he always does, which reduces Chris to a blathering, tearful mess. He swears up and down, out loud, that he will actually wither away and perish if Karl doesn't fuck him _right this second_ , but Karl just keeps shushing him, telling him to quit it with the fancy vocabulary (fancy, really?) and rubbing Chris' stomach, where his happy trail disperses on the way to his navel. All Chris can do is tremble and smother his pleas into the pillow. He's grateful Karl gave him that pillow.

Just when Chris thinks he can't take anymore, Karl withdraws his fingers and shifts back to put on a condom. Then he bodily gathers Chris into his arms, positioning him into a kneeling position as he leans back against the headboard.

"Straddle me," he says. Chris gets his wits about him for long enough to do as he's told. Karl hums in approval and reaches down to gently stroke Chris' neglected and stiff cock. He peers up at Chris and his eyes are more black than hazel. "This is mine, isn’t it?" he says. Chris can only nod. Karl shifts his hand down to gently cup his balls and Chris bucks with a faint whine. "And this is mine, too."

Chris digs his fingers into Karl's shoulders. "Please let me sit on your dick already."

"All right, but go slow. We've got time."

He's right about that, so Chris obeys, inching down onto Karl's length as he presses his face to Karl's stubbled cheek. Karl wraps his strong arms around his waist and Chris clings to his shoulders, and together they start a steady rhythm. Chris feels…he feels safe. He wanted to be held and he wanted to be fucked and he's getting both, just as he asked. Karl is everything, angled deep inside him, lighting him up, and Chris nearly sobs when he has the sudden thought that coming here, to Karl, was the first nice thing he's done for himself in ages.

"It's okay," Karl keeps murmuring, kissing him over and over. Chris chases after his lips. "It's okay. You're with me. You're mine. Aren't you?"

It may or may not be true. "Yes, _yes_ …"

"Fuck yourself on my cock like my good boy."

Chris' answering moan sounds strangled at best. He moves up and down and when he changes his angle slightly, Karl gasps, digging his fingers into the small of Chris' back. Chris bites at Karl's mouth and goes faster, until his world narrows to the feeling of Karl's dick prodding at his sweet spot and the dizzying heat washing over him. When Karl curls his slender fingers around Chris' cock and strokes, gentle and firm, it's all over but the crying.

"Can't, I—fuck, I can't—"

"Come on, Chris. Give it to me. Let me see—"

Chris comes hard and messy, all over Karl's hand and chest. The damp air between their bodies suddenly reeks of sex and Karl growls against Chris' collarbone, his hips bucking. 

"Chris, I need…"

"God, _please_."

Karl pushes him down onto the mattress again and Chris gasps, getting a glimpse of the ceiling before his vision is filled with Karl again: Karl's furrowed brow, the slope of his pointed nose, the sweat beading on his upper lip. Chris revels in all of it and lets Karl take him, clinging to Karl's back. He doesn't speak, afraid to trust his own voice. Karl drives into him again and again, and when he comes with a broken grunt, Chris holds him close, cupping the back of his skull. Karl returns the favor by sliding his fingers into Chris' hair, panting into the crook of his neck.

It occurs to Chris that maybe they both needed this. Together, right here, in this big, empty house.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers. "I was, like, this close to calling you 'daddy.'"

Karl huffs out a laugh, still catching his breath. "I'm not _that_ much older than you, brat."

"Details." 

They shift apart and Chris makes a small sound of loss. Karl kisses the corner of his mouth and throws his condom away. Normally one of them would go fetch a washcloth, but they're both too drained. Karl spares a glance for the bathroom and then waves a hand, huddling against Chris' side again.

"When's your flight?" he asks, eyelids already drooping.

"Open-ended. So whenever you want me out of your hair…"

Karl shuts his eyes. "S'been a while since someone was in my hair," he murmurs.

"Did you miss it?"

"What do you think?"

Chris scratches Karl's nape lightly with blunt fingernails. He watches as Karl's lips go lax with sleep, and he feels the shadows in the room shift with the rustle of trees outside the window. They both know he can't stay too long. Chris has his own work schedule and anyway, it would look odd. Karl's cast mates might wonder; rumors could spread. But here, cradled in the dark, Chris can pretend that they're different people leading different lives. He can imagine that it's him and Karl and no one else, and that's how it's supposed to be.

"I think I'll stay forever," he whispers, testing it out on his tongue, when Karl is fast asleep and only the shadows can hear. They don't question him.


End file.
